The call, the call
of night made small,
Can you hear it ring?
The pale rose wains
of poisoned veins,
In the dark, the beasties sing.
This town is cursed
our sins now nursed,
Laid bare in eternal pale light.
The hunters roam
so far from home,
Beware, lest you be caught in sight.
And underneath
the things with teeth,
Lay the old catacombs.
Where ghosts of old
who died alone,
Wail and cry and beg and roam.
So pass fast by
this town of mine,
Let its mysteries remain just that.
For if you visit
you'll learn what is it,
That made none of us come back.
-
Author:
Jack Cohen (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 16th, 2021 16:12
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 25
Offline)
Comments1
so many, have memories and past's they can look back on, longingly;
and yet, just as many
are inundated with yesterday's, they can't rid themselves - of,
no matter the strength of their sleeping pills...
we, need to exist
between the shadow and sunlight, so as to remind ourselves
how crucial it is, we appreciate
the Now: we've yet to taste!
(a great write, took me on reminiscing journey of my own,
indeed, we all have a past we try to deny or a regret, we're too scared to confront)
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